Simple Inhumanity
by ozma914
Summary: A team of Watchers and Slayers are threatened by not demons, but people. Inspired by the recent story of Captain Richard Phillip's ordeal at the hand of Somali pirates, and the similarity between his name and that of my OC Watcher from previous stories.


Maybe it was the hunger that made Richard Philips climb to his feet -- unsteady business, with his hands tied behind his back. Maybe it was recklessness brought on by a combination of boredom and unending fear. Maybe it was a growing rage at the simple inhumanity of their captors filling themselves from a table full of crepes and caviar while injured people cowered in a corner of the same room.

Xander jerked to attention, giving Richard a not quite panicked "What are you doing?" look. Curled up beside Xander, the little girl, Ayanna, gave him a considerably more panicked look.

Rona remained stretched out on the floor before them, her breath coming in small gasps as she clutched a blood soaked blanket to her abdomen.

"We could use some help," he told the men, who had filled plates one by one before retreating to separate areas of the yacht's dining room.

The men looked surprised, but completely unconcerned. "We've been here two days, and you just now speak our language?" said one, who towered a foot above the others and showed wiry muscles through his black t-shirt. Like the rest of them, he wore dungarees, and had his AK-47 slung over his shoulder as if it was a permanent part of his wardrobe.

"What reason did we have to give you any information?" Richard rolled his eyes upward, toward the gash in his forehead caused by the butt of the same man's weapon. Explaining that he didn't speak the Somali language at all -- that he picked up the English translation in his head -- was way more information than he was willing to give.

He reminded himself to thank Willow for the translation spell – the headache was well worth it. After two days, he had a better idea of what the five people who had invaded their craft were about.

"But now he talks," one of the others murmured. The taller man shot him a look, confirming what Richard had already determined -- that he was the Leader.

"What do you want?" The Leader asked, with a patronizing smile.

"To be untied, so I can help keep the girl from dying -- and they need food."

The three men exchanged glances. "The girl took a bullet to the stomach," their spokesman told him. "It's a miracle she lived this long, but I already checked your supplies -- there's nothing here that can save her life. Perhaps she could have considered that before she attacked us."

Rona's faint voice floated up from the floor. "If you hadn't bribed someone to let you on board, you'd be the one needing first aid." Despite the natural darkness of her face, she visibly paled from the effort of speaking.

"Shut up, Rona," Xander hissed.

"They speak our language too?" The Leader laid his plate down and casually unslung his assault rifle. "Who knows how much you've heard? "

"No, none of that." Richard stepped between them. He wasn't worried about getting shot, although a beating remained a constant possibility. As far as he knew Somali pirates had no interest in killing; just in riches. "What secrets could you possibly have that aren't already known to the whole world? You hijack ships and demand a ransom; it's what pirates have done since the first ship set sail." As soon as the word left his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake.

"Pirates!" Richard flinched as all three men took an angry step toward him. "We're businessmen! We contribute to our community -- that money goes to feed and clothe our people!"

"Oh, really? And I suppose you don't take a nice cut for yourselves?"

The Leader looked genuinely puzzled. "But -- we take all the risks, and do all the work."

"I've got two sons to support," said the third man.

"Thank goodness for free enterprise. But if you're just trying to keep food on the table, why are you willing to let this girl die?"

"Let -- fine." Slinging the weapon back over his shoulder, the Leader instead pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from a scabbard at his waist. Richard had a bad moment, thinking he'd gone too far, but the other man spun him around and, with quick, efficient motions, cut Richard's bonds loose. "You didn't put up much of a fight before, so I doubt you will now."

"They need food." Richard gestured toward Xander, who was whispering calming words to Ayanna. The little girl, not quite nine, stared at her captors with huge eyes that seemed to glow in contrast to her deep chocolate skin. "I mean real food, not this rich people's crap you laid out here."

Glancing back at the table, the Leader raised an eyebrow. "But this isn't your food?"

"We borrowed this vessel."

"Ha! So did we! And once we repair the damage your late captain did to the engines, we'll borrow it back to our port and use it to go after bigger game. Remind me to thank you for that, before your rich benefactor pays to get you back."

Late captain? So much for the Leader's claim that the crew was safe, locked away in a cabin. But the Captain had been near the bridge – no way could he have gotten to the engine in time. Storing that information away for later, Richard dropped to his knees beside Rona. "My employers don't make deals with terrorists."

He had only time to confirm what he already knew -- that he didn't have the tools or talent to deal with Rona's injury, and that only her Slayer healing powers had kept her alive this long -- when the Leader grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back to his feet. Richard cried out in pain once, then again as he was slammed into the bulkhead by a window.

"We are _not terrorists_." The Leader had the knife to his throat, and Richard felt the bite of its tip. Getting killed suddenly seemed a much more likely possibility. "We have no desire to kill or destroy anything -- we're looking after our homeland!"

"By hijacking ships hauling relief supplies for starving people?"

"Richard --" Xander began. He stopped when the Leader's flung knife buried itself in the decorative wood paneling a foot above his head.

"Shut up!" The Leader turned back to Richard, spinning him around and pressing his face to the window glass. "You weren't hauling relief supplies, were you? And how did that get here so quickly?"

A hundred yards off the port side of the yacht, a gray warship drifted silently, with no activity visible on its decks. An American flag whipped in the stiff ocean breeze, and on the ship's side was emblazoned _U.S.S. New York._

"Maybe they were in the area looking for _bad guys_." Richard pulled away and took a step back, and the Leader followed him, looking out the window himself.

Xander stared at Richard as if he was crazy, and maybe he was; they'd been told what to do if the Somali pirates took them hostage, and this wasn't it. But Richard's days of volunteering on the ambulance told him something Xander couldn't know: that Rona's life was now being measured in hours, if not minutes.

The Leader's eyes narrowed. "And why were _you_ in the area? Could it be you were looking for the _bad guys_, too? Luxury yachts don't come here. You weren't even in the shipping lanes -- you came to Somalia itself, didn't you? Why?"

Richard half-stepped to the right, away from both his opponent and the window, causing the Leader to take a threatening step forward. "Maybe someone does have to do something about criminals like you. Maybe people are sick of waiting on the United Nations." _Lord, please let this work, because I don't have a plan B._ Richard glanced around, and saw the other two men had become interested enough in the conversation to leave their positions and move closer.

The Leader gave a startled bark of laughter. "The United Nations! What are they going to do, resolve us to death?" He pointed out toward the hovering amphibious assault ship. "We even kicked America out of our country, and all they can do now is lurk off our coast. Nobody's going to stop us."

Turning, Richard studied the ship. He noticed another ship, maybe an escort, far in the distance, but his attention was on the decks of the _New York_. Was that a gleam, just a bit of a flash, on a top deck? They'd had two days to prepare.

"Someone has to stop you." He lifted his chin, not so much for effect as in an attempt to keep his voice steady. "Terrorizing every ship that goes by makes you terrorists, by definition. How many people have died because of what you did? Maybe not in direct attacks, but in food that didn't get to the starving, medical attention that didn't reach the sick, clean water that never made it to the thirsty. This room is a microcosm of what you've done out there. You're scum, every one of you, and the best thing to do with scum is to kill it and wipe it away."

Eyes wild, the Leader unslung his AK-47 and stuck the barrel in Richard's face. "Why are you here? Tell me, or that little cut on your forehead will become a big hole."

"We're here because that girl has a potential for greatness. We came in the night because you turned your country into a cesspool of violence and filth that it might never recover from. She's destined for better things, destined to fight for good instead of living and dying under the thumbs of lowlife gangs with petty dreams of personal dictatorships. We're here because she deserves better than you."

Shaking in rage, the Leader pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

With a frustrated growl, he realized he hadn't chambered a round. It took only a second to accomplish that and bring weapon to bear again, while Richard tried to decide which way to duck and roll.

Then the Leader's head exploded.

The other two pirates stood frozen, mouths gaping, while their bosses' body dropped. A hole now scarred the window, and while they stared at it another window shattered. A second pirate stared stupidly at the blood spurting from his shoulder, then took a step back toward the sheltered portion of the dining hall. His attention was focused on the window, and he didn't recognize the danger from inside until Xander climbed to his feet and, screaming, drove his shoulder into the man's back.

They collided together at the window, but Xander had gone down into a football stance and held the pirate against the opening, legs apart and shoulder in the small of the man's back. At first the pirate didn't understand what was happening, then he looked out at the _New York_ and began a panicked struggle, crying out something that sounded like a prayer.

An instant later he slumped to the floor, a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. Xander lost his balance and also fell, rolling away to avoid the dead man.

The third pirate ducked down, grabbing his own AK-47, and backed into a more sheltered area of the kitchen. As he aimed his weapon at Xander the dining room's inside door burst open.

"Hi," said a female voice.

The third captor didn't reply. He was busy clutching at a crossbow bolt jutting from his forehead, and was still clutching at it when his body hit the deck.

"Where the hell have you been?" Xander demanded.

Faith strode into the room. Her eyes took in everything as she produced a knife to cut first Xander's bonds, then Ayanna's. "Gimmie a break, Harris. I had to take care of the pirate and the guy they bribed, and I was back on the radio with the Navy when Rich decided to get stupid."

"There's another pirate --" Richard began.

"Seals took care of him. Those guys are wicked shots." Faith kneeled by Rona, who hadn't moved through the whole thing. "What the fuck, Rich?"

"Rona's healing powers weren't enough; she wasn't going to last much longer." Richard leaned against the bulkhead, trying to seem casual so no one would notice his legs weren't holding him up.

"Got it." Faith pulled a portable radio from her belt. "Hey Navy, it's secure over here. Send over the doc and supplies, like we talked about." She glanced around again, then added, "One of them's still alive."

Richard followed her gaze. The third pirate, despite the crossbow shaft in his head, still breathed, and after an instant of gathering his wits Richard crawled over to the man. "Faith, get the oxygen."

"What?"

"In the bag by Rona – there's a second tank." Little blood came from the wound; the critical damage was internal. He rolled the man onto his back and tried to use a chin-lift to open his airway, but the wounded man's muscles were spasming and the mouth wouldn't open. "Give me your airway, fella." _Agonal respirations -- too much brain damage._

Faith dropped down by him, oxygen tank in her hand, but Richard felt her eyes on him instead of their patient. "Hey, Rich --"

"Just a sec." He needed to establish an airway. He used both hands to try to pry the mouth open, but it wouldn't move. "_Gimmie your damn airway!"_

The pirate's body spasmed. Suddenly the mouth came open, but the shuddering chest stilled.

"Rich?"

Richard leaned back on his heels. Xander was beside him now, too; the little girl cradled Rona's head, whispering into her ear. "So, the Navy has a doctor coming?" _Stick to business._ He tried to tune in his situational awareness, and found himself relieved and surprised that he hadn't wet his pants at some point.

"Yeah," Xander said. "Um ... Ayanna wants to know what kind of demons these were."

Faith lowered her voice. "Make something up."

"Yeah?" Watcher and Slayer traded an understanding look.

"Yeah. Kid's gonna need enough therapy as it is."

As Xander went back over to his charge, Faith dragged Richard to his feet, turned him from the dead man, and hauled him over to the breeze from the open window. "Breathe, Rich. You're looking way more whitebread than usual."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, sure. That was a dumbass thing you did."

"Yeah." He watched as small boats began pushing their way toward the yacht. "You put the engine out of commission, right?"

"Yeah. When I realized they were already on board I did everything by the book -- the hiding, the patience stuff, all that crap -- and then you did what I usually do. Except I do it without looking like I'm about to puke."

He forced a chuckle. "That was the right decision, letting Ayanna think these were demons. Calling the Navy in was the right decision too ... we'll get the details ironed out later."

Lowering her voice, Faith asked, "You okay?"

"No, not so much." He felt her awkwardly patting his back, and tried unsuccessfully to chuckle again. "I suppose I'm … grieving."

"What?" She tilted her heard toward the bodies littering the deck. "For those guys?"

"No." It was hard to make her understand; it was hard to understand himself. "No, they got what was coming to them. I'm grieving for their families ... "Richard looked down at the man he'd watched take his last breath.

_"I've got two sons to support,"_

"Not for them. I'm grieving for who they could have been."


End file.
